


Walk and Chew Gum

by Monksandbones



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/M, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, POV Female Character, Ripped From the Headlines, thinly disguised real american politics, thinly disguised real canadian politicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8889283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monksandbones/pseuds/Monksandbones
Summary: His normal white with anger was taking on a greyish tinge that Elizabeth had never seen on him before. That color on a man with a heart condition couldn't be good.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Waterfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waterfall/gifts).



> Happy yuletide, Waterfall! I couldn't quite manage Elizabeth/Russell being hot and sexy, but I hope you'll enjoy them yelling at each other, with sides of awkwardness, hurt/comfort, complicated feelings, and Elizabeth and Henry talking about Russell in bed!
> 
> Note that I wrote this after watching _Madam Secretary_ episode 3.09, "Snap Back," but before President Obama and Prime Minister Trudeau announced the joint Canada-US moratorium on oil drilling in the Arctic. I've edited it lightly to reflect actual events, but I swear I was only trying to come up with a diplomatic problem of the week that didn't require learning the details of another country's politics from the ground up!
> 
> Thanks to Z for the beta and cheerleading.

**October 24, 2016.**

Elizabeth yawned and furtively scrolled through her emails as she waited for the elevator. Dalton campaign poll numbers (up in Colorado, down in Ohio and Michigan, put a pin in that email for now). Briefings (Philippines, flag for review in the car tomorrow morning). Tomorrow’s appointments (open, step into the elevator, read as the elevator climbed to the seventh floor). She normally tried not to run from appointment to appointment with her phone in her hand - leave it for Russell Jackson to rush out of a room staring at his phone when he was trying to put someone in their place. But her final appointment of the day, a videoconference reviewing the framework for a preliminary agreement with Canada on shipping and petroleum development in the Arctic, had begun late and ended later. No one was watching, and the sooner she could run through tomorrow’s schedule with Blake, the sooner she would be able to go home, take her shoes, off, and collapse into bed.

The elevator doors parted with a soft “ping.” Elizabeth stepped out into the lobby, and almost collided with Blake, who jumped aside as she looked up from her phone. Blake seemed apprehensive, and he was ambushing her elevator after hours. This couldn’t be good. She took a moment to imagine her bed, Henry in it with his glasses and a stack of student papers while he waited for her, all of it shimmering like a mirage on a hot road before disappearing into the distance. Blake cleared his throat.

She tamped down a flicker of irritation. “I hope what you’re about to tell me is a matter of vital international importance, Blake.” 

Blake’s evasive grimace was eloquent. “Good evening, Ma’am.” He threaded his fingers together. “Russell Jackson is in your office.”

Elizabeth downgraded her hopes for the rest of the evening another notch. She and Russell had been fighting and rehashing the same argument over the political risks of Conrad’s foreign policy transformation for months, but it was beginning to take on a bitter and desperate edge. Russell in the general election was more wound up than she had ever seen him or anyone else, and that was saying something, considering she’d also seen Drawn Out Defeat in the Primaries Russell, not to mention Normal Russell. She wasn’t sure what Russell would do if - if, and please, for the sake of humanity - Conrad actually won his second term. Set himself to establishing Conrad’s legacy with as much bark as he’d dedicated to securing his second term, almost certainly, but it was amusing to think of a mellower Second Term Russell, dancing on the political graves of his defeated rivals, basking in the fact that he no longer needed to worry about Dalton’s re-election.

But Russell was in her office now. Right. “Did he say what he wanted?”

Again, Blake looked oddly evasive. “Not exactly,” he said, and turned and tiptoed across Elizabeth’s outer office. Elizabeth followed, confused, as Blake pushed the half-closed door of her office fully open. “He got here about half an hour ago. I checked in twenty minutes ago to let him know you were still running late,” Blake said quietly, gesturing inside. “But… well, good luck. Ma’am.”

Ah. Russell had demonstrated several times that he was perfectly willing to take half an hour out of his busy schedule in order to lie in wait until he could yell at Elizabeth, but this explained Blake’s elevator ambush. Russell might have started his half-hour in her office waiting angrily. He was planted in the exact middle of her settee with his arms spread. However, his hands were limp on the seat, offering only a faint imitation of one of his repertoire of favorite intimidating poses. His phone had slipped out of his grasp and lay next to his right hand. His head lolled back against the cushions, eyes closed behind his glasses, mouth open. He emitted a tiny snore.

Elizabeth sighed. Russell had not so much as stirred at her presence in her office doorway. Five hours of careful acknowledgement and reassurance of the Canadians, only four of those hours scheduled, and this was looking like the day’s trickiest diplomatic situation. Part of her wished that Blake had slammed a door or dropped a heavy folder onto her desk and saved her the trouble of waking Russell up herself. On the other hand, Russell had mercifully refrained from comment on the occasions he had surprised her at home in her pyjamas, and if her groggy recollections were at all accurate, when he caught her sleeping during the Pakistan Render Safe crisis, he had taken care not to startle her awake. She probably owed him a gentle, and if possible, a dignified awakening, although another part of her was tempted to let him sleep. Maybe she should go for her office blanket, put it on him, and sneak out. What kind of state must he be in if he was falling asleep as soon as he sat down for a few minutes in someone else’s office, obnoxious tendency to make himself at home in her office uninvited aside?

No. It was 8:15 pm on a Monday evening. No matter how much Russell probably needed a nap, or a lot more than a nap, now was not the time. She gave herself a mental shake and pulled her office door quietly closed behind her. Then she crossed to her closet and, with her back to the room, opened it briskly. The latch clicked and the wood panels creaked. She eased off her coat and arranged it carefully on the hanger, smoothing it into place before she turned back to Russell, who was running his hands over his face. She tugged one of her office chairs over to the settee and dropped into it. 

Russell yawned behind his hands, leaving Elizabeth stifling a yawn of her own. “What can I do for you, Russell? Can I get you a drink?” Now that he was awake, her urge wrap him up in a blanket and put him to bed was giving way to an urge to needle him. She could be close to kicking off her shoes and wrapping herself up in her own blanket now if not for him. “Coffee?”

Russell gripped his phone and fixed her with a glare. “No. No coffee. I want to hear about the Canadians.”

“Well,” Elizabeth raised her hands in a mock shrug. “The Canadians are working with us. And Prime Minister Nicolas Tremblay is a lot easier on the eyes than his predecessor.” 

“Elizabeth,” Russell said, “I need to know what you have so far. Please tell me an offshore drilling ban isn’t on the table right now.”

A note of pleading threaded its way into Russell’s voice at “offshore drilling ban.” Elizabeth had goaded him into admitting to her once, months ago during the primaries, that he recognized that man-made climate change was real and a threat to global security. Russell the good soldier and self-appointed guard dog of Conrad’s re-election campaign was prepared to deny climate change as much as any oil industry lobbyist, if it meant the possibility of not alienating one of the donors who had funded Conrad’s first campaign, but Elizabeth didn’t have the luxury of focusing solely on the election. She had to walk and chew gum. The deal she was working on was structured to form a strong foundation for further action if Conrad won re-election, but also to offer a measure of protection for the Arctic even if Conrad lost and her successor as Secretary of State was in bed with big oil. 

Russell stared accusingly as she prepared to answer. “We aren’t going to announce it until after the election.” She leaned back and folded her arms as he straightened angrily. “Can we skip the argument over whether this is going to lose Conrad the election tonight, Russell? It’s been a long day.”

“You think it’s been a long day?” Russell was on his feet, looming over her and leaning into her face. “I spent my day down in the trenches all but on my knees begging Conrad’s donors and super PACs to fund more ads in the Midwest, and all they wanted was my assurance that your new foreign policy isn’t going to sell American businesses down the river. Do you know how hard it is for me to make that case when you’re playing save the whales with the Canadians?”

“Oh, that is not fair!” Elizabeth was standing and shouting back before she could summon the mental energy for a placating response to prevent them going another round over political expediency versus good policy. “ This is bigger than the election and you know it, and the Canadians know it, which is why they’re committed to keeping the details under wraps until December at the earliest.”

“We are losing this election,” shouted Russell, stepping closer and jabbing a finger at Elizabeth. “I am trying to put out the fire in Ohio and Michigan and win this thing for my President,” he shouted, “and we are going to lose because of you. You’re a damn do-gooder, and couldn’t you have waited another six months? I’m sure the polar bears would have survived. Your stubbornness and fancy idealism are going to cost us this election. How will you feel about being the face of Conrad’s foreign policy then, Elizabeth? When Evans rolls back everything Conrad has ever done, or Reynolds tears up NATO and we all nuke ourselves into oblivion? Will the polar bears care then?”

Elizabeth took a stunned step back, but her flash of anger was already draining away. Russell looked as unhinged as his logic. His eyes were glittering with rage, his lips wet with the force of his vituperation, his chest heaving as he piled up escalating and uncharacteristically poorly targeted accusations against her. There was no way this was just about an Arctic drilling ban in the works, or even just about her foreign policy.

“Is this about the new poll numbers, Russell?” 

“You are sabotaging us,” Russell cried, panting hoarsely, his eyes darting around the office. His normal white with anger was taking on a greyish tinge that Elizabeth had never seen on him before. That color on a man with a heart condition couldn’t be good. She had to get him calmed down and sitting down before he fell down, and then maybe she should call Blake if he was still at his desk. If not, she’d call security, but better if Russell wasn’t raging at her when they arrived. 

She reached out and grabbed Russell firmly by the upper arms, and walked him backwards until she could press him down to sit on the settee. “Russell. Listen to me. Breathe.” 

Russell squirmed in her grip. “We need Ohio if we’re going to win this.”

“Russell, you have to calm down.” Elizabeth sat down on the settee next to him, torn between forcing his head down between his knees and shaking him. She landed somewhere in the middle, with her hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing gently. “You know I’m doing everything in my power to get Conrad his second term, but I also have to do what I can to keep the world safe if he doesn’t.”

Russell sagged back against her hand, his breathing slowing. 

“Besides, the Canadians want Conrad to win almost as much as we do. They’re not going to let anything slip that hurts his chances, and Nick Tremblay really is both prettier and more cooperative than the former Prime Minister. What more do you want?”

“Mostly for the election to be over and Conrad to win, but I’d take a polling lead in Ohio.” Russell sighed. “Maybe some proof that this foreign policy shift is something people want. Maybe a drink.” 

Elizabeth could certainly provide Russell with a drink, as she had done on many previous occasions, including some when she had actually offered him one. His color was improving, although he looked exhausted. She filled two tumblers from her decanter and sank back down on the cushion next to him. She was exhausted too, and the weight of the election hung between them. “This drilling ban is the right thing to do, and it’s what we’re doing. I hope it’s what the American people want.”

They drank in silence for a few minutes, Russell gradually leaning back against the settee, and Elizabeth trying to parse what had just happened. Catching Russell asleep and vulnerable had to have been a factor (punishing her for catching him at a weak moment), but that didn’t explain why his tantrum had gone so far off the rails (too much stress, not that he was on an even keel at the best of times, and, come to think of it, that had looked a lot like her humiliating panic attack in front of Minister Chen). It also didn’t explain why he had come to her office in the first place (questionable; an Arctic treaty with Canada was not exactly peace in the Middle East). 

Suspicion growing, Elizabeth swirled the scotch in the bottom of her tumbler. “Did you come down here just to pick a fight with me this evening? Or was there something else?”

Russell laughed hollowly, which was not a denial. “The nap was good too. But I was in the neighborhood so I thought I’d check up on Canada. I don’t have anything on for another…” he checked his watch. “Twenty minutes, then I’m supposed to be having drinks with another damn donor in Georgetown.” He stood up.

Elizabeth stood up too, and gathered her bag and coat from her closet. “Are you sure you’re okay, Russell?”

“I’m not getting much sleep these days and my blood pressure’s been better, but I’ll feel better after this drinks thing. I hate the guy.” He paused with his hand on her office doorknob. “I already feel better, but don’t tell anyone I said that.” 

“Russell,” said Elizabeth, shutting her office door behind them and feeling a rush of fondness that she could only translate into teasing, “did you just admit that you really did come here just to fight with me? I never knew you cared!” 

“The fighting wasn’t part of the plan,” Russell said under his breath as they passed through Elizabeth’s outer office. “And don’t tell anyone I said that either.”

“Goodnight, Russell.” Elizabeth hung back at Blake’s desk. Blake was still there, studiously focused on his computer as though he hadn’t been listening, and there was the matter of tomorrow’s schedule to be worked out.

Russell pulled out his phone. “Goodnight, Elizabeth,” he muttered, already intent on the screen as he rushed for the elevator.

~

Later that night, after Elizabeth had banished her shoes to the depths of her closet and was lying in the dark enveloped in Henry’s arms, she thought again about Russell admitting he had come to her office to what, make himself feel better? And then falling asleep while he waited for her. Poor Russell. Maybe she should tell Carol; if Carol couldn’t browbeat him into looking after himself, there was no one who could. She turned onto her back. “Henry?”

Henry made an interrogative noise.

“Funny story about Russell Jackson today.” She burrowed down into her covers. “Funny until it wasn’t, that is.” She felt Henry laughing quietly at her side as she told him about finding Russell dead to the world, and his arms came up around her as she described Russell’s meltdown. “I was ready to strangle him for getting into it again, but then he was so far off target. He usually keeps his yelling on topic, doesn’t go off about indifferent polar bears roaming a nuclear wasteland of my making.”

“Sounds like he had a bad day,” Henry murmured into her hair. “It sounds like you both had bad days. I hope he didn’t say anything too far out of line.”

“He accused me of sabotaging Conrad’s campaign.” Henry startled. “But that’s not the point,” she added quickly to settle him. “I don’t think this Arctic treaty is going to sabotage the election, and Russell knows how much I want Conrad to win. But I’m worried. Do you think I should talk to Carol?”

“I think Russell can look after himself,” Henry said, squeezing her snug against him. “You have enough on your plate as it is, what with changing the world, saving the polar bears, and all that.”

Elizabeth remembered Russell’s drawn face and frantic panting. “I hope he milked Conrad’s donor for all he was worth and then went home to bed.” 

“I’m sure he did, babe,” Henry said sleepily. He pulled her in for a kiss and sighed comfortably. “Time for you to let it go and do the same.” 

Elizabeth shut her eyes against the glow of her alarm clock and the sheen of the streetlights outside, settled down with one more unsettled flash of having to comfort Russell on her office sofa, and did.


End file.
